One evening I approached an old friend- an aged man, who was struggling with a muddy tractor wheel on the edge of a field. I sat back a little way in the brush, and cracked a few twigs so he would know I was there.

"Hey, Shadow," he called, frowning at the muddy mess in front of him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an incredibly crumpled package of cigarettes, and turned, arching his back. I could tell he had been at this for a long time. He looked very tired. He took a few steps and sat down on a rotted tree stump at the edge of the woods.

"I want to tell you about something I saw once." He lit a cigarette, and coughed a few times.

"I used to work at this school bus factory. We assembled the drive train and exhaust systems for fleets, and public transit and school systems - we shipped buses all over the world. I won't say the name of the company, or what country it was in. That's not important. I want to tell what happened there, all in a single day, a long time ago."